


Admiration

by ApocalypticRepo



Series: Serendipity [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Admiration, Attempted Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-30 03:42:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApocalypticRepo/pseuds/ApocalypticRepo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ronthil admires the body & person that is Nathaniel. Vingalmo attempts to claim what is 'his'.</p><p>(Loving my Dovahkiin with little Ronthil. Wish I had this on PC so I could mod the hell out of this & make Ronthil completely mine. Oh well, I'll live with my fantasies)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Admiration

Nathaniel had gone to deal with a den of rogue vampires stirring up trouble near Falkreath leaving Ronthil to continue his duties with Feran actively avoiding Vingalmo as best as he could. He often saw the Altmer hovering around the overlooking balcony, the look on his face less than pleased that Ronthil had been avoiding him. He constantly asked Feran for any jobs he could do so that Vingalmo wouldn’t catch him alone which annoyed the Dunmer-turned.

When the morning would come, he would wait for Vingalmo to finally leave before dashing up to his Lord’s quarters. He was thankful that CuSith kept mostly everyone out while his master was away. Still, being in Nathaniel’s quarters (and his own as Nathaniel kept reminding him) without him there made the chambers seem more empty than it was. Ronthil opened the door and ushered CuSith to enter so that he wouldn’t be alone anymore, especially not with Vingalmo lurking about.

CuSith huffed and curled up by the fireplace while Ronthil sat on the edge of the bed already dressed for the morning – one of Nathaniel’s long shirts since he didn’t possess much else. He had tried to sleep in the coffin in the back of the quarters, but after spending a few mornings curled up in the bed with Nathaniel, he couldn’t find himself to be able to get comfortable in a coffin even if it was a new luxury that he should have enjoyed.

When the night came around, Ronthil was once again doing whatever jobs Feran needed doing. When he was dismissed to go feed, he quickly retrieved a blood potion from Nathaniel’s quarters and hurried to prepare food for the blinded Dexion who was sitting patiently on the overlooking balcony of the alchemy lab with his hand on a special book designed by a mage from Winterhold. Ronthil was fascinated by the bumps in the pages that were supposed to represent words and letters as Dexion had explained to him and that he had learned to decipher the bumps to read the story among the pages from the extensive tutoring sessions he had from the very mage who made the book ( _The Mirror_ ).

Ronthil set the plate of food down in front of the Moth Priest and the man smiled appreciatively. “Thank you, my boy,” He said reaching carefully for the fork to try a piece of cut up chicken breast that Ronthil had cooked up. Ronthil never took himself for a cook, but ended up getting plenty of practice cooking up the man’s meals to help Nathaniel.

Dexion continued to ‘read’ his book while munching contently on his food while Ronthil took sips of the blood potion. He enjoyed the quiet around Dexion, finding the older man’s company pleasant enough and Dexion was more than willing to share whatever wisdom he could provide (Ronthil wasn’t sure if it was out of the heart of a teacher or from the effects of Nathaniel turning him into one of his thralls at Serana’s and Harkon’s behest).

“My boy, be careful of the Altmer,” Dexion warned. He had paused everything he was doing to warn Ronthil of Vingalmo which made him fidget. Ronthil sighed, knowing he just had to hold out until Nathaniel returned and made it clear to everyone that Ronthil was here.

Feran shouted for him and he got up. “I’ll be back to take you to the gardens,” Ronthil assured running to where Feran was.

“There you are!” Feran hissed, more annoyed than angry.

“I’m sorry,” Ronthil quickly apologized, standing ready to obey whatever order was given to him.

“I need you to go get this list of books. They’re on the shelf by the coffins.”

He jogged down the steps and opened the doors to the bookshelf pulling out each book on the list. Ronthil used his hip the close the doors again, but didn’t get far with the books. The books were forced out of his hand when his back was slammed against the bookshelf’s doors. He shivered uncontrollably when he felt the thin tongue of Vingalmo trace up his neck to the point of his ear.

Ronthil felt frozen, petrified even when Vingalmo flipped him over so that he was pressed face first into the rough wood and ground his erection against Ronthil’s ass. “P-Please…” Ronthil finally stammered out. “Stop…”

He grunted when his head was pressed painfully into the wood. “Who gave you the right to speak?” Vingalmo questioned while the other hand went to work off Ronthil’s trousers. Nathaniel’s face flashed in Ronthil’s eyes.

“NO!” Ronthil shouted louder fighting against the Altmer’s strong grip.

Vingalmo’s grip suddenly disappeared followed by him screaming in agony after a loud crack sound echoed through the empty sleeping chamber. He whimpered at the scream and slowly turned to see what became of Vingalmo. Vingalmo was pinned face first into the wall and the arm that had crushed his head into the bookshelf was bent at a severely awkward angle behind him (explaining the loud crack he heard). And holding him there was Nathaniel almost effortlessly.

Nathaniel reached out and lightly ran his finger along Ronthil’s jawline. “Are you all right?” He asked gently. He didn’t even look concerned that he just broke Vingalmo’s shoulder out of his socket not that Ronthil was upset over it.

“Y-Yes, I’m fine, My Lord.”

Nathaniel’s finger traced up to the reddened skin from the contact with the bookshelf and frowned. Nathaniel growled low and Vingalmo’s arm came off in a flurry of torn ligaments, bone and muscle. Vingalmo screamed through the whole thing before collapsing to the ground in shock clutching the remains of his shoulder.

Feran came running down the stairs after hearing the scream and stopped at the final step gazing down uncaringly at the now unconscious Vingalmo. Blood spewed out of the shoulder and spilled on to the floor until it touched Feran’s boot. “That’s going to stain,” He muttered under his breath and glanced at Nathaniel and Ronthil.

Nathaniel had taken Ronthil into his arms, making the little Bosmer blush. “I told you I’d take care of you,” Nathaniel said with a gentle smile on his face. “No one is allowed to control you, touch you, or use you. Only me.”

Feran shook his head at the display, find the public display of affection childish, but said nothing since this was his Lord and his assistant. He only collected the discarded books from the floor (muttering about the blood stains on a few of the covers) and returned back to his lab to experiment and research all that he could. Vingalmo was left on the floor to bleed out or until his stump of an arm knitted close to stop the bleeding not having enough power to completely regenerate the arm.

Ronthil was happy enough to return to their chambers after taking Dexion to his room and take one of the chairs in front of the fire place nursing a blood potion. Nathaniel took the smaller throne that Harkon had favored and relaxed for the first time since he had left for his journey to Falkreath. It was almost like the incident with Vingalmo didn’t just happen and Nathaniel’s face wasn’t dotted with blood nor was his arm soaked in the blood of the Altmer.

He regaled the young Bosmer with the tale of his mission. The mission had gone relatively smoothly, Nathaniel picking them off with a great deal of stealth and a few well-placed shots with the crossbow taken from his brief period with the Dawnguard that he named Bianca (and no one touched Bianca lest they lose their hand). Fura hated the weapon since it reeked of vampire blood and Dawnguard which was another reason Nathaniel kept it close. Ronthil admired the etchings in the lacquer, the power that such a small weapon could dish out with each bolt and the fact that Nathaniel favored it enough to give it an affectionate name like Bianca.

There was quite a bit that Ronthil admired about Nathaniel and his quirks since he was given the privilege to witness Nathaniel at his most vulnerable something that he was sure his enemies would kill to see. He hoarded books unless he had doubles then he’d get rid of second copy. He had a major weakness for sweet rolls (mostly the frosting that came drizzled on top) and was best friends with a psychotic jester named Cicero. Ronthil never actually met Cicero personally, but had briefly heard of him since Cicero was forced to wait outside while Serana and Nathaniel attended the Court to meet Harkon and thus gaining the abilities of a Vampire Lord automatically rising him far above Ronthil’s station. The others had described a psychotic Imperial dressed as a jester, singing about strangling cats and setting bards alight all the while twirling a knife with such skill that it made Fura twitch with a tingling of fear. Nathaniel had laughed at their unease around Cicero having felt completely at ease with the Keeper, but didn’t send the insane man home until Serana requested it.

Before the sun could rise, Ronthil tucked himself in the surprisingly warm embrace of the Nord’s large arms with his face buried in the contours of his chest, tracing the scars that told his story in river of blood, pain and victory. Most of the scars looked like they were carved open with a serrated or uneven edge; that meant Falmer or the Forsworn that was plaguing the countryside around Markarth – probably a mixture of the two. There were a few scars that Nathaniel had explained were made by a shiv from his time locked under false charges in the Silver-Blood Mine when he had taken on an Orc for the right to see the King of the Forsworn. Nathaniel had accomplished and seen much of Skyrim that Ronthil had yet to experience. And it wasn’t just Skyrim. He had experienced the war with the Altmeri Dominion, having been nothing more than a common soldier then no more distinguishable than the matching armor everyone wore and cared for and the fact that he was a Nord instead of an Imperial.

Ronthil traced his fingers over the curved pattern scar that dotted around his chest: a gift given from the World Eater himself. There was a rumor spreading around that Nathaniel had seen Sovngarde in the final battle that only he had seen along with a dragon that he had  _captured_  using Dragonsreach. Ronthil could only dream of adventures, if he had that kind of imagination. The most he’d done was escape from a Thalmor prison, nearly bleeding to death from several arrows to his back and being saved by the former Lord Harkon when he washed up on the shores of Volkihar castle. The scars left over from it still dot his back.

Nathaniel’s breathing was steady and through his nose. A habit he had picked up to prepare himself for any danger that approached through his acute sense of smell. Ronthil buried his nose in his collarbone enjoying the strange warmth that only someone like Nathaniel could possess even in his state of undead. Honestly, the only reason Ronthil knew Nathaniel was still a vampire was the extended heartbeat and the glowing red eyes that no Nord had.

Ronthil eventually let the sweet embrace of sleep take him feeling Nathaniel tug him even closer.


End file.
